Page 24 of My Wicked Earl
Sutton constantly chastised Donata for interfering in the lives of others but had shenotmeddled in Sutton’s relationship, Alex could very well be married to that vile cur, Archie Runyon.
At the mere thought of Archibald Runyon, gooseflesh rose across Donata’s forearms and the tea went bitter in her mouth. His foul legacy still permeated the lives of the Cambourne family, even though the man was dead. Thankfully. All because Miranda had learned to shoot and with deadly accuracy.
A lump formed in her throat, the words choking her as she spoke aloud to the empty room. “And yet I could not save Elizabeth from that monster.”
The hand holding the teacup shook, rattling the fine porcelain against the saucer. She had not seen her youngest granddaughter for many years, not since Elizabeth was a child. Not since the death of her son, Robert.
Elizabeth had been sent far from London. To a place where given time, she would heal. A place where monsters like Archie Runyon did not exist. A convent in Scotland, on a small estate owned by the Duke of Dunbar. Elizabeth’s safety was assured. She would never have to see Archie or her mother, Jeanette Runyon Reynolds, again.
“Bitch.” Donata shocked herself by cursing out loud. Something she rarely did. Certainty grew within her that Jeanette had a hand in Miranda’s current unhappiness. Not the unsuitability, of course, but the obvious unhappiness between Colin and Miranda. This entire affair reeked of Jeanette’s machinations.
I should have had Robert send that viper he married away long before she could hurt Miranda and Elizabeth. I should never have allowed Jeanette to create such turmoil that I took myself on a tour of the continent and abandoned them to her treachery.
She took another sip of her tea, allowing the pain to linger and flow through her veins as she thought of her son, Robert, dead now nearly five years. Her eyes welled with tears and she blinked, trying to hold them back. Now was not the time to dwell on that harpy, Jeanette, a woman who destroyed everything and everyone she touched.
Six years ago, Colin Hartley had been the third son of the Earl of Kilmaire. Handsome, charming, with an air of melancholy that attracted women like moths to a flame. And poor. Not a farthing to his name. Nor hope for a title. Certainly not worthy of marrying the daughter of a marquess.
Jeanette’s ambition was legendary. Miranda was only a tool to be used by her mother to make a splendid match, one that would further Jeanette in society. Colin Hartley would not have been that match. Had Jeanette witnessed the growing affection between the two and decided to make sure it didn’t blossom?
“I am not,” Donata said softly to herself, “about to allow that vile creature to win.” She set down her tea cup. There was much to do and little time to do it.
“Harry!” She called over her shoulder, knowing the ginger-haired footman likely stood just outside the room.
“My lady?” Harry’s bright red hair popped thru the doorway.
“Will you bring me pen and paper along with my small writing desk?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And Harry. Do you recall that matter we discussed earlier? It appears that I was correct in my assumptions.” She often confided her schemes to Harry, who was a more than willing accomplice. The boy was very dear to her, and she considered him to be more son to her than servant.
“Of course, my lady. You are rarely ever wrong.”
Donata heard the pride in Harry’s voice and smiled at it. “Very rarely.”
Lord Ridley. As if she would allow her granddaughter to marry that money-grubbing dandy. Lord Hamill? Ancient. Infirm. Completely unacceptable.
A knock sounded at the door, followed by the reappearance of Harry holding a portable writing desk and ink.
“Thank you, Harry.” She winked at him.
“If I may be so bold.”
“You may, Harry.”
“What are you about, Lady Cambourne?”
Donata chuckled as she opened the writing desk, pulling out ink, pen and several embossed pieces of her private stationery. Taking up the quill, she began to scratch away, hastily producing a letter which she sealed and handed to Harry.
“Deliver this to Gray Covington, directly into the hands of the Marchioness. And please relay to her my apologies for the late notice.” She hoped that Alex would forgive her. Itwasfor the best of reasons, after all. No one wished to have Lord Ridley in the family, and Sutton would never forgive Colin if he married Lady Dobson’s niece.
“At once, Lady Cambourne.”
“And hurry back, Harry. We’ve a house party to plan. Invitations to be sent.” No one would refuse her. She was the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne.
The Cottinghams and Lady Dobson would likely beat Donata to Gray Covington in their haste to visit. Ridley would immediately draw a line of credit at that gaming Hell he frequented, telling everyone he’d soon be married to the Marquess of Cambourne’s sister.
“Ha!” Donata bit off a piece of her scone. “They shall all be disappointed.Verydisappointed.”
